Perhaps his mental ears did catch the sounds of the coming conqueror’s drums, and the roar of his guns; and his mental eyes see regiments of unconquerable British soldiers, exacting a terrible vengeance, and he himself, forsaken by his people, driven forth, a beggar outcast, wandering on and on, through trackless jungles, without a pillow for his head or roof to shelter him, and on his forehead a brand more terrible than that which ever branded the brow of Cain--flying forever from his pursuers; a guilty, conscience-stricken, blackened and despised wretch--too abject a coward to die, and yet suffering the agonies of a living death. Whatever of these things he might have dreamed, he gave no utterance to his thoughts, but galloped on to his Palace, and issued orders that that night should be a night of revel. CHAPTER XXVI. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES SWINGS. The day following the slaughter at the Ghaut was a great day for Nana Sahib, for he was to be publicly proclaimed Peishwah, and his power in that part of the country was to be acknowledged supreme. The dream of years was fulfilled at last. He stood at the foot of the throne; he had but to mount the steps, and men would bow down before him as their ruler. Power, greatness, wealth--all were in his grasp. His foe lay crushed in the dust--his ambition and revenge were gratified; and in the pomp and glitter of the gorgeous pageant of that day, the voice of conscience was perhaps for a time stilled. And truly the pageant was a gorgeous one--a spectacle that even, in their wildest imaginings, the authors of the “Arabian Nights” could not have dreamed of. Scarcely had the sun fully risen before the Palace at Bhitoor was in a state of commotion. All night long, thousands of hands had been at work preparing for the great show, and nothing was wanting to render it complete. At a given signal the procession, which was to march through the town, and some of the outlying villages, commenced to form. First came five hundred stalwart natives, walking six abreast. On their heads were turbans of cloth of gold, and on their breasts were glittering vests of steel. Every man carried on his shoulder a drawn sabre, that flashed in the sun’s rays. The front row carried the Nana’s standard, which was trimmed with real and massive gold fringe. These men were followed by five hundred boys, dressed in white muslin. Each boy carried a pair of silver-plated cymbals, and the very air was rent with the clashing. Then came a body of singers, singing a song of triumph, each singer being dressed in a costly robe. They were followed by two hundred camels, their necks hung with silver bells, while their trappings were cloth of gold. On the back of each camel sat a boy dressed in raiment of pure white, and carrying in his hands a small disc of highly polished steel, which was turned so as to catch the sun’s rays and throw the light far ahead--on tree, and road, and building. This was to symbolise the Nana’s power.